Fighting the war in a smock
IF YOU think our politicians do nothing but dither under pressure, it might be some comfort to know that in 1941, beneath a nightly rain of German bombs, Parliament spent weeks debating whether the model for a women’s army recruitment poster was wearing too much lipstick. The author of this poster, 27-year old graphic designer Abram Games, was not pleased. He had been commissioned by the War Office PR agency to make a poster to persuade women to join the ATS, the new women’s branch of the army. They needed 140,000 recruits, but the public perceived the ATS as drab and dowdy.
Games reasoned that women were willing to join but wanted a touch of glamour as well. Sketching from a live model he met by chance, he produced the iconic “Blonde Bombshell” poster. In his distinctly modern style, which must have seemed like it was from outer space at the time, he combined a beautiful airbrushed image with powerful shapes, typography and colours.
It was enthusiastically approved by the Ministry of Information and the War Office PR deparment, but in their rush to go to print they forgot to consult the head of ATS. She hated it. Looks like an ad for lipstick, she said. She, Games and others involved argued fiercely. She eventually relented. But it was only the first of many reactions to the poster.
In 1941 there was no TV, not much radio and newspapers were all black and white. So colourful posters were an effective means of communication. So much so that almost instantly upon release, ATS recruitment got a huge boost. The poster was a triumph. Until a member of parliament caught sight of it.
Thelma CazaletKeir, Conservative MP for Islington East, went ballistic, saying girls should be attracted to join through patriotism, not glamour. She protested that this girl had too much makeup and perhaps loose morals as well. She complained to Minister of Labour Ernest Bevin and the debate raged in Parliament and in newspaper columns for weeks. Games himself was Abram Games in his War Office studio, 1941 astonished that during the Blitz politicians should concern themselves with a matter so trivial.
In the end, Bevin cancelled the second print run and that was that. It was banned. The posters were gathered up and pulped. A new, stodgier poster went up. A newspaper said it was a case of “dreary minds for drab posters and dowdiness for duds”.
Games was furious. But he had plenty more up his sleeve. He was a visionary graphic designer with a unique style that combined wonderful images with clever ideas. What he came up with was Above: the Blonde Bombshell, 1941. Top: Loose talk can kill, 1942 dazzlingly futuristic, but always delivered a clear message. He was commissioned by the Ministry of Information and the War Office PR department to produce posters whose topics ranged from warnings not to divulge secrets to advising soldiers on taking care of their weapons, their feet and even their teeth.
The images with their dramatic angles, visual puns and striking messages were strong, fresh and original. It is astonishing now to think that they were all done by hand — no computers! The ideas, the words and the artwork were all his own. And he had to use only certain colours due to wartime restrictions on some inks and paints. One of his mottos was “Maximum meaning, minimum means”.
Games was a socialist, and worked subversive messages into his posters, even as subtle as the Blonde Bombshell looking left instead of right. One of his posters contrasting the future of Britain with her past showed a boy with rickets — a common disease in poor areas — in the background. It caught the attention of Churchill, who raged at this depiction and demanded the poster be destroyed. Well, figured Games, Churchill never visited a slum.
Games carefully researched his projects and worked hard to present complicated details in a simple way. His daughter, Naomi Games, has also carefully researched her book about her father’s wartime work. All the inside politics behind the posters, the reactions they provoked, and how effective they were are reported in exquisite detail, even print runs, size and quantities. This much information would weigh down a lesser subject, but Games was such a restless, brilliant man that the text skips along.
Happily, the book is laid out so that when the topic moves on to the next poster, there it is in front of you. This takes a bit of planning.
Asked how she researched all the inside stories behind the work, Naomi says, “my father was a meticulous record-keeper.”